Page 81 of Bossy Hero

I didn’t peek down there while I was undressing him since he couldn’t keep his lips off mine. Not complaining about that, by the way. My mouth is quite happy with all the attention he’s given it since we finally decided to give in to our carnal urges.

But now? I’m dying to know what’s about to happen to my downstairs area. And is it weird that I sort of want it to hurt?

I’ll unpack that later.

As for now, all my attention is diverted to where he’s sniffing me through my silk panties. Literally sniffing me.

Alan’s buried his face between my legs, inhaling me like he’s found the secret to eternal youth, if only he can snort it out of me. “Dammit, Maddie. You smell like heaven. I’m gonna be down here all fucking night.”

My low belly tightens, arousal flooding my core. Words completely fail me. I can’t even manage a grunt or sigh.

“Lay down on the bed and spread your legs for me, gorgeous,” he orders, his voice rough and sexy as hell.

Pardon my French, butfuck me sideways.

I’ll do anything he says if he uses that luscious voice. Positively anything. And not because I’m scared of him or doing it to capitulate to someone else’s whims while forsaking my own. But because my bodycravessurrendering to his. And his voice is a leash, bringing me to heel.

Yet I’ve never felt so desired and cherished.

Following his command, I lower to the bed and scoot backward. He watches my every move, save for the moment when his shirt passes by his face as he removes it.

I gulp as I gaze at him in all his glory.

Holy shit.

I’m suddenly extremely self-conscious, especially now that I see so much of him and have become painfully aware of how drastically we contrast each other. The big light isn’t on, but the bedside lamp is, and it provides plenty of light.

A bit too much.

I’ve had three babies. I’m fifty-three. I’ve got wrinkles, age spots, saggy skin, scars, stretch marks, and a belly pouch that could hide one of my bottles of wine like it’s a joey kangaroo.

As for him? He’s... stunning.

Not as chiseled as he was in the few photos he shared from his Army days. But a fine male specimen all the same. Softer now, more of a belly, but still with the virile strength of a man. Broad shoulders, defined pectorals, corded forearms covered with a dusting of black hair, and sporadic tattoos that seem to accentuate his strength in the best way.

The only one that stands out as somewhat unfitting of his masculinity is the ink on the underside of his right forearm, approaching his wrist.

It’s a flower.

It’s always struck me as odd. But now that I see him in nothing but his boxers, it stands out even more.

Fortunately, I don’t have time to consider why it’s simultaneously so familiar and foreign because he’s crawling toward me with eyes so heated they might burn my sheets.

I’m fumbling for words, wishing I could saysomethingthat could get him to stop studying me so closely without sounding like I’m fishing for compliments. If not that, I wish I could utter some keyword that would cut off the lights. I’ve been meaning to hook those up to the voice-activated thing Leo installed for the security system.

Damn you, hindsight and past procrastination.

Darkness would feel really good right about now.

What can I say to break him from this intense scrutiny? Something sexy? Flirty? Coy?

Anything?

I gulp as he hovers over me, one strong arm on one side near my waist and the other arm by my hips. His gaze alternates between my waist and my neck, with occasional treks down my body to my lower half.

“Alan,” I say, as if that means something profound.

All this time andthat’sthe best I could come up with.

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